Writing a column about how crazy Michael Jackson is would be about as gratuitous as claiming that Matt LeBlanc’s Friends spin-off, Joey, isn’t destined for Frasier-hood. Besides, a recent photo of his face would shame any written argument I might make. But the leap from Off the Wall to child molestation, with which he was recently charged for the second time in a decade, requires no minimal amount of justification. Thus far, we have little more evidence than one child’s claim against Jackson—two, if we include the 1993 accusation. Maybe it’s just me, but I find it premature for Jackson’s name to be linked with child molestation in every media outlet under the sun absent something more substantial. I’m all for knowing if there’s a potential sex offender living next door to you and your children, but this concern hardly applies to any of us. So why the scrutiny?

Obviously, you say, it’s because Michael Jackson is a celebrity. And celebrities don’t have privacy—they give that up when they get famous. Now, maybe I’m stretching here, but I have a feeling that most of us would envision lost privacy in terms of an airbrushed photo on the cover of Us Weekly, maybe a shout-out or two on ET. But not a haggard mugshot taken at the Santa Barbara County Jail—no, some things should be off-limits even in the realm of celebrity, and I think it would be fair to include child molestation charges on that short list. Pedophilia is a mental disorder; it’s avolitional. It’s for the same reason that people are so appalled by the idea of executing mentally handicapped murderers—when choice isn’t involved, pity is far more warranted than anger. So go ahead, pass judgment on celebrities for their latest relapse or for trading in their aging wives for younger models, but spare me your righteous indignation when it comes to molesting children.

This certainly isn’t to imply that I believe Jackson did molest children, though he’s undeniably guilty of one charge: hubris. As MTV’s Kurt Loder argues, Jackson never should have allowed children to share his bed. I don’t find this act nearly as repulsive as Loder, who writes, “Any 45-year-old man who regularly goes to bed with pubescent boys… is appalling.” Have we really become so sterile and mechanical that any expression of affection between adults and children must be limited to a handshake, a hug, or a quick peck on the cheek? The fact is, Loder—like most people—assumes that Jackson’s “bedding young boys” smacks of carnal intentions. That’s a logical leap that solid evidence has yet to bear out.

In this day and age, one must take logical precautions around children lest they end up sharing Jackson’s fate. According to MTV reporter Jennifer Vineyard, Jackson’s former friend Uri Gellar even claims to have advised him not to invite children into his bedroom—not because he believed he was guilty of wrongdoing, but because “the behavior is unacceptable to the outside world.” Regardless of what happened in the bedroom, it’s undeniable that Jackson wouldn’t be facing these charges if he hadn’t flouted societal convention. As Loder’s assessment reveals, we as a society consistently pass judgments on one another, founded or not. Defy society and society will punish you—even if you’re one of the most successful celebrities in history.

Judging by Martin Bashir’s documentary Living with Michael Jackson, it’s evident that Michael Jackson isn’t an ordinary member of society. Ordinary people don’t have to worry about throngs of people congregating wherever they venture, snapping pictures and staring slack-jawed. Ordinary people don’t have to cover their children’s faces with masks in public or contemplate how to school them without subjecting them to judgmental peers and teachers. For Jackson, our conception of a normal life is foreign. In his situation, you ultimately make your own rules. You do what feels right to you in your circumstances, and what feels right to him is children. Recently he declared, “If there were no children on this earth, if someone announced all kids were dead, I would jump off the balcony immediately.” Makes sense, right? To Michael Jackson, the adult world is a jungle. The innocence of childhood is his only respite from bloodthirsty tabloid reporters and, frankly, from us. We are those slack-jawed onlookers who buy into the tabloids and exposes. We eat up his records one day and crucify him the next.

With each passing scandal, we further alienate him from society and promote the eccentric behaviors we revile. The cycle needs breaking. To paraphrase Fiona Apple, it’s time we stopped fondling his trigger and then blaming his gun. It’s time we let the man be.